e attempting to trace out some coherent line through the maze of
intercourse he had had with his wife during these past months, his bell
suddenly rang. It was the red label of Whitehall that had made its
appearance; and for an instant his heart leaped with hope that it was
news of her. But at the first words it sank again.

"Brand," came the sharp fairy voice, "is that you?... Yes, I am
Snowford. You are wanted at once--at once, you understand. There is an
extraordinary meeting of the Council at twenty o'clock. The President
will be there. You understand the urgency. No time for more. Come
instantly to my room."

* * * * *

Even this message scarcely distracted him. He, with the rest of the
world, was no longer surprised at the sudden descents of the President.
He came and vanished again without warning, travelling and working with
incredible energy, yet always, as it seemed, retaining his personal
calm.

It was already after nineteen; Oliver supped immediately, and a
quarter-of-an-hour before the hour presented himself in Snowford's room,
where half a dozen of his colleagues were assembled.

That minister came forward to meet him, with a strange excitement in his
face. He drew him aside by a button.

"See here, Brand, you are wanted to speak first--immediately after the
President's Secretary who will open; they are coming from Paris. It is
about a new matter altogether. He has had information of the whereabouts
of the Pope.... It seems that there is one.... Oh, you will understand
presently. Oh, and by the way," he went on, looking curiously at the
strained face, "I am sorry to hear of your anxiety. Pemberton told me
just now."

Oliver lifted a hand abruptly.

"Tell me," he said. "What am I wanted to say?"

"Well, the President will have a proposal, we imagine. You know our
minds well enough. Just explain our attitude towards the Catholics."

Oliver's eyes shrank suddenly to two bright lines beneath the lids. He
nodded.

Cartwright came up presently, an immense, bent old man with a face of
parchment, as befitted the Lord Chief Justice.

"By the way, Brand, what do you know of a man called Phillips? He seems
to have mentioned your name."

"He was my secretary," said Oliver slowly. "What about him?"

"I think he must be mad. He has given himself up to a magistrate,
entreating to be examined at once. The magistrate has applied for
instructions. You see, the Act has scarcely begun to move yet."

"But wh